


Shy Bladder

by Anonymous



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Universe, Desperation, Embarrassment, M/M, Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting, friends to piss buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jaskier has a shy bladder, so he holds it in. Until, one day, he can't.AKA That time Jaskier accidentally peed all over Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 118
Collections: Anonymous





	Shy Bladder

_Shy_ is not a word normally associated with one Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove; however, there is one department in which he finds himself bashful beyond function. Blame it on his noble upbringing that taught him certain behaviors are terribly uncouth and should be kept private, but Jaskier just _cannot_ relieve his bladder if he knows there are others within earshot.

And witchers, Jaskier has come to learn, have extraordinary hearing ranges.

It hadn’t been too much of an issue at first. Jaskier had grown used to holding it in until he was accommodated with the proper amount of privacy required to let loose his urine. It was something that he subconsciously always seemed to route into his plans – when and where will he be able to have a wee?

There had been a few uncomfortable situations, but Jaskier always managed to hold out until they’d either reached an inn with a chamberpot or a tavern with a latrine he could use while Geralt went off to fill a contract. That, or they found a creek to refill their waterskins throughout the day where Jaskier could wander downstream while Geralt tended to Roach – the bubbling brook providing Jaskier the sonic cover he needed to comfortably pee.

It was all going swimmingly, pardon the pun, until of course, it wasn’t.

The only body of water they’d run across all day had been a still pond. Not safe to drink from, and certainly provided no sound to disguise the telltale trickling of urine.

 _It’s fine. We’re bound to run into another water source soon enough._ He’d thought to himself, planning how if it were another pond he’d strip down and piss in the water under the guise of bathing. He’d done a similar ruse before. Shameful, sure. But what else could he do?

They’d been walking along, Jaskier working out a tune with his full focus to take his mind off the pressure building in his bladder with each step, when a hoarse voice broke into his reverie.

“Ah, Master Witcher! Could you be so kind to help an old woman?”

Geralt pulled Roach to a stop and dismounted as Jaskier’s grip on this lute tightened in frustration, knowing that this small pause would only further prolong his meeting with sweet, urinary relief. Go figure the one lone dwelling they’d come across in the past several miles just happened to have _some_ sort of problem only a witcher could solve.

“My poor Frances has got himself trapped up in a tree, you see. And I’m well past my days of tree climbing…” the elderly woman explained as she led them towards a mostly bare oak tree. About two and a half meters up on a wide branch sat a fat, orange cat. The feline seemed perfectly content with his situation, but the elderly women insisted he needed to be transported down.

_At least this shouldn’t take long…_

Geralt’s shoulders sagged and he turned towards Jaskier with a raised brow, asking a silent question that Jaskier couldn’t begin to decipher.

“What’s the matter, Geralt, cat got your tongue?” he grinned at his own joke, proud that even in the unbearably desperate state he was in, his clever wit never stalled.

Predictably, Geralt merely rolled his eyes.

“I’ll need you to sit on my shoulders and get the cat.”

Jaskier’s glee plummeted. “Sorry, what?”

“Cats don’t like me. You need to bring him down; I’ll boost you up on my shoulders.”

Jaskier risked a glance towards the old woman, her wrinkled hands clutched together as she watched them converse, the worried furrow in her brow only adding to the lines carving through her face.

With a quiet exhalation, Jaskier shook himself off, plastering his most winning smile on as he unshouldered his lute to place in its case, determined to not show any discomfort. “Well, I could hardly refuse to help a lady as fine as you, madam! We’ll have your dear Frances safely returned to you in no time!”

_Just get this done quick and we’ll be on our way._

The woman clapped and giggled as Geralt knelt down. “Don’t pull my hair,” he grumbled.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear” Jaskier replied, quietly imagining all the times he had definitely dreamed of it.

With his thighs on either side of Geralt’s head, Jaskier realized his mistake the moment Geralt stood up to his full height. The change in posture forced Jaskier to lean forward to maintain his balance, causing the back of Geralt’s head to press against his tight and full bladder – Jaskier’s cock smushed against the broad neck between his legs.

“Ohhh, no no no no” Jaskier muttered as he tried uselessly to clamp his knees together, inadvertently choking Geralt’s airflow.

Geralt stumbled in his surprise, clutching Jaskier’s knees to pry them apart. The stumble did him in, and Jaskier let out a pathetic whine as he gripped the white hair below him to keep from falling as his overfull bladder took the path of least resistance.

Liquid hot shame poured out in a torrent and onto the man below. Jaskier tried, gods did he try, to clamp his steel control back over his urethra, but the _blessed relief_ was untamable. He could hear the pitter patter of tiny rivulets as they made their way down Geralt’s backside and puddled on the ground – the sound only adding to the urgent alleviation he was experiencing.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, as he continued relieving himself, Jaskier thought brokenly, _at least Geralt will surely kill me after this and I won’t have to bear the shame._

When he regained control of himself, Jaskier could feel the painful blush of his disgrace from head to toe like a punishing fever, could feel the stillness of the witcher he’d just pissed all over, Geralt’s fingers still digging hard into Jaskier’s knees. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the woman, instead bringing his hands to cover his face as though it would help him to disappear as he so terribly wished he could.

Geralt grumbled something Jaskier couldn’t hear through the humiliated rush of blood pumping in his ears. And then they were moving – Geralt was walking, and soon Jaskier heard the accompanying hoof steps of Roach alongside.

He finally removed his hands from his face when he felt Geralt kneel down, allowing Jaskier to stand on his own two feet again. He couldn’t be sure how long Geralt had been walking, but they were surely a distance from the old woman’s home as he glanced around at the dense trees surrounding them.

Geralt moved to Roach’s saddlebags, _to get his weapon of choice, I’m sure._

Pushing through his mortification, Jaskier managed to speak, “Look, Geralt, could you do me the small dignity of at least not telling anyone this is how I went? Tell the people that I went out trying to fight off a wyvern that was attacking a small puppy. Something noble, hm? I mean really if you think about it, your reputation is directly connected to my own, so telling the world that the Great Jaskier met his end at a witcher’s sword after having messed his pants all over said witcher – I mean you could see the repercussions, couldn’t you?”

A startled yip escaped him as a piece of fabric smacked him in the face. It fell into his hands: a pair of his own braies.

“Ah, good. Yes. Best if I’m wearing a fresh pair of undergarments in the end,” his rambling continued.

A scoff from Geralt that sounded almost like a laugh followed by, “And here I thought the humiliation would quell your dramatics.”

Jaskier’s head snapped up just in time to see Geralt removing his soaked shirt, revealing the damp skin underneath. The tips of Geralt’s hair clung together with the moisture.

 _With my piss…_ Jaskier thought with an inexcusable flitter of something he’d rather not name. “I’d think being mercy killed after pissing one’s pants is decent enough reason for a bit of drama…” Jaskier said quietly.

“I’m not going to kill you. Now undress and get to bathing.”

“…bathing…” Jaskier circled around to see a still pond behind him, as if in mockery of his prior plans to piss in the secrecy of submersion. He glanced down at the clean underpants in his hands, then back to Geralt who was, _oh_ , fully naked now and approaching him with a bar of soap and a relaxed expression. As if it were any other day that a man gets piddled on by his very best friend.

Jaskier tried not to let his eyeline descend, but years of training his periphery for sneaky glances awarded him with the vague motion of _quite_ an impressively-sized bit of equipment down below.

His eyes snapped back to his hands. “Right. Bathing,” he said as he began removing his own clothes and Geralt strode past him and into the water. Jaskier swallowed thickly, unsure of how to ease his own mortification and subsequent awkwardness.

It wasn’t until he was in the water, shamefully scrubbing his thighs and groin with his back to Geralt, that Geralt finally spoke again.

“So. That was unexpected.”

“Yes, well. I don’t make it a habit to piss in front of people, let alone _on_ people…”

“Hm.”

“Look I’m very grateful you’re not deciding to end my life for this indiscretion, and I’m _clearly_ horrified and apologize for … for _doing that to you._ But perhaps we never speak of this? It can be our fun little secret. And we can go back to you never having heard, or seen, or… or _felt_ me urinate.”

“I’ve seen and heard you urinate, Jaskier.”

That caused him to turn around, his hands leaving their task of scrubbing in favor of raising in alarm.

“You’ve _what?_ ”

Geralt looked confused. “We travel together, how could I not?”

Jaskier simply stared, mouth agape in horror as every time he’d ever snuck off for a wee flashed through his mind with the hindsight of knowing that Geralt had _heard it all along._ _And had seen?!_

Geralt shifted in the water, his hands coming down from where they were rubbing soap across his neck and shoulders while looking at Jaskier with something akin to sympathy.

“It bothers you?” Geralt asked.

“Of course it does! Why does it not bother _you?”_

Geralt’s large shoulders shrugged, his eyes lowering to the surface of the water in thought. “It doesn’t,” he paused for a moment. “I don’t mind that you pissed on me, either. You needn’t be embarrassed."

Something about his nonchalance ruffled Jaskier’s feathers. How could he simply shrug off this _highly devastating_ event that had occurred, the culmination of all of Jaskier’s social fears boiled down to a slight inconvenience that he _needn’t be embarrassed_ about!?

“I’ve every _right_ to be embarrassed!” he shouted in indignation, “And you’ve every right to _damn well mind!_ Geralt, I _pissed on you!_ Like a child wetting their pants, I pissed on you and in front of an elderly woman!”

Geralt resumed his scrubbing, “Not the first time I’d been pissed on. At least this time I didn’t need to pay coin for it.”

Jaskier was fully prepared to continue his rant insisting Geralt make a bigger deal out of this, but the words and their meaning clogged his synapses with confusion.

He shook his head to try and clear blockage, “Sorry, you’ve… you’ve _paid coin_ …”

A touch of annoyance passed over Geralt’s face. Instead of clarifying, he dunked his body and head under the water before surfacing and scrubbing away at his hair, removing the final remnants of Jaskier’s little (or actually rather large) accident.

Jaskier’s eyes widened in realization.

_He’s embarrassed._

“Geralt…”

A muscle twitched in Geralt’s jaw at his placating tone.

“Geralt, my dearest companion who just played witness and victim to my most humiliating moment, why would you pay coin for someone to urinate on you?” Jaskier moved slightly closer as he questioned.

Golden eyes flicked towards him, that hardened glare commanding Jaskier to stay back.

_Yeah, I don’t think so…_

He poked the clenched jaw muscle with an index finger. “Your scary face doesn’t work on me, witcher.”

A miniscule splash the only disturbance to the water as Geralt’s hand flew to Jaskier’s wrist, holding it tightly as he bodied into Jaskier’s space, his glare as menacing as ever.

“Because I _like_ it, you fool.”

A feverish flush swept over Jaskier, but a much more enjoyable one this time around, that familiar gut pull he’d had hints of earlier when he’d noticed Geralt’s drenched state.

“So is _that_ why you always spend more than me at brothels?” Jaskier mused with a small smile.

Geralt pushed him back. “Shut up.”

Jaskier chuckled in delight as he regained his footing in the water as well as his demeanor, his embarrassment forgotten in favor of his favorite pastime: giving Geralt shit.

“No really, Geralt! To think I’d just done you such a service! How much should I charge you, hm?”

“It’s not a joke, Jaskier,” Geralt growled, “and if you intend to make it into one, we’ll end this conversation now.”

“Oh come now, _you needn’t be embarrassed!_ ” Jaskier drawled Geralt's own words back to him with his hands on his hips, “I’m not new to, shall we say, unconventional proclivities in the bedroom. Though I can’t say I’ve dabbled in that sort of play. Tell me, what’s the appeal?”

Geralt dunked under the water, clearing the remaining suds from his body and hair before trudging towards the bank and drying himself with a rag he’d left for himself.

Jaskier followed suit, opting to wear just his underpants as the evening sun promised a warm night ahead of them. “You’ve my word that it stays between us. No ballads of the ‘Whizz Loving Witcher.’ I really am just curious.” And he found that he was. He'd certainly heard of people getting their rocks off to acts like that, but as far as he knew he'd never encountered someone that had that particular taste.

He assumed the irritated grunt he initially received was going to be the only response he got, but after donning a loose shirt and pants and setting up camp for the night, Geralt finally gave him an answer.

“Feels good.”

The strings of his lute buzzed lowly under his paused fingers as Jaskier let the grunted, two-word sentence sink in. He looked over to where Geralt sat, stoic as ever and glaring daggers into the fire. For a moment it almost seemed as if Geralt hadn’t spoke at all.

Sitting up a little straighter, setting his lute into the soft grass, Jaskier prodded gently, asking, “I should hope if you were paying coin for it, that it would be for pleasure. What makes it pleasurable?”

He wasn’t about to hold his breath for a reply, but once more, Geralt surprised him.

“Warm.”

Jaskier nodded encouragingly.

“I enjoy…” the sound of crickets filled the pause before he finally continued, “I enjoy feeling owned. Like I’m beneath.”

The image of a wet, hulking witcher filled Jaskier’s mind. That pendulous shape of a cock he’d done so well to not look at directly earlier, he pictured it above him as he knelt in waiting, that undoubtably fat cock held in the strong hand that had just minutes ago been gripping his own wrist.

 _I suppose I see the appeal_ … Jaskier mused, before another thought kicked into the forefront.

“Did you…” Jaskier croaked before clearing his throat. “Did you enjoy it, Geralt, when I pissed on you?”

The stick Geralt had been holding to jab at the fire snapped as his entire body tensed, like he was anticipating a strike from an enemy.

“It’s okay if you did,” Jaskier rushed to add, “Honestly, think of all the coin you could save if you could get your jollies from your dear friend!”

He’d meant it as a joke, a way to lighten the mood, but the way Geralt’s head tilted up towards him, eyes slightly widened, made Jaskier reconsider his intentions. His lips were suddenly dry, and he licked them before he spoke again, his heart thundering with anxious anticipation.

“I would… you know. If you wanted me to. Though my shy bladder might make that a bit impossible…”

The medallion hanging between Geralt’s pecs shimmered orange in the firelight as he expelled a breath between parted lips. His gaze stayed glued to Jaskier’s face but he made no attempts to respond to anything Jaskier had been saying.

Jaskier sighed and ran a hand down his face, “I know I’m usually the one to carry our conversations, Geralt, but if you could say _something_ that would be just dandy.”

“I did.”

Jaskier leveled an unamused expression at him, “Staring at me doesn’t count as a response.”

“No, I meant…” Geralt shook his head, furrowing his brows as if it would help him find the right words, “I meant I did… enjoy it.”

They maintained eye-contact, but Jaskier was sure that Geralt could see the twitch in the fabric of his braies. He glanced down and saw Geralt in a similar state of arousal through his thin pants.

 _What in four kingdoms is_ happening _today…_

Unsurprisingly, Geralt was the first to break the staring contest as he rose up and stalked over to the saddle bags resting on the ground near Roach. After digging for a moment, he returned and tossed something towards Jaskier.

It was Geralt’s waterskin, still mostly full.

“Drink up, bard.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for this fandom and it's PISS. lol. 
> 
> I'm posting this as completed because I'm not entirely sure if I'll write out the follow-up or not.


End file.
